Lady of the Light
by Domingo Pinguinos
Summary: When Sweden adopts Wy along with Sealand, he finds that he is finally able to celebrate a wintertime holiday that has been uniquely his for centuries.


Six months prior to this day, Sweden had been seated on this same bench in the park near Uppsala, observing the Cottonwood seeds as they danced on the tides of the wind, drifting down from the great branches that had once nurtured them, and then carried up by the breeze. Each individual bundle was highlighted by the sunset, and while troublesome to many, created the air of romanticism in the summer climate of the typically cool northern region. He'd been thinking then of his rapidly approaching birthday and dreading what antics Denmark might be up to for the occasion, when all he truly desired was to be seated here with a book in hand.

This day, however, was quite different, as winter had befallen in earnest. Berwald minded not the cold weather, as it did nothing to change his plans. This evening was quite dark in comparison to the aforementioned one, though he was fond of the way the snow pranced down from the clouds then unexpectedly up and away from the streets in the familiar manner as the seeds of the Cottonwood trees. He was seated indoors this time, though still he had a fascinating book in hand. Dread no longer haunted him, however, as he was half a year away from his birthday at this point. Instead, he faced the days with a great cheer. In the far north, at this time, rather than only Christmas, children had rather two holidays to look forward to at this time, though the other one was quite unique to Sweden's people.

It was the rather unfortunate truth that when most thought of the sub-Arctic nation, they thought only of the early darkness and bitter weather the location brought about him or, if one of the countries themselves, his relentless stare or the latest bit of odd gossip concerning his actions - that along with Sealand, he'd recently adopted a girl by the name of Wy. Of course, as Peter and Wy had been quite close, it had been no secret that Sweden had known her quite well and saw her often, though it had blindsided many when he took official custody of her from her brothers. While they thought it improper and sang their songs of sympathy, Berwald did not see fit to justify himself to them. He'd once heard a clever saying that one never ought to explain himself as his friends would not need it and his enemies would not believe it if he did and so by this he lived, even to that very circumstance. Few reasons of the adoption were selfish, for he'd thought most of his newfound daughter's happiness, but he could not help but smile when he thought of the fast approaching holiday. Santa Lucia Day, as it was called, was a favorite of his. It was meant for the celebration of light and was centered around the eldest daughter of the household. He had not told Lynnaea of his intentions of celebrating this holiday, though he was certain Peter must have said something to her at this point.

A clamour now sounded out the window and Berwald glanced away from his book. Through the lazily falling snow, he saw his children caught in the sweet song of laughter as they returned home for the evening, though darkness had long ago fallen. He placed a bookmark between the pages, uncrossed his legs, and sighed for as much as he disliked it, the two were in for a scolding as he'd specifically said that they needed to be home before the sun set. With darkness came lower temperatures and the cold was often attributed to the phrase "catch a death". As the door swung open and the croon of giggles was audible, Sweden made his way over to greet them with a stern look in his eye. They were quickly hushed as his eyes told everything to them. Sheepishly, they chorused,

"Sorry, Far." Their blushes were less from the fact that they were caught and more because the cold had made the blood run to their noses and cheeks, painting them with the image of blithesome folly. He shook his head and replied,

"Don't do it again. 's the second time this month." Their ashamed faces lifted in spirit to better match their blushes as they brightly followed their father's turned back down the hall to the kitchen where he had begun preparing hot chocolate for the both of them. It was a job quickly completed as Sweden had many times done this for the past few months. Immediately after, he began with dinner and listened in to his children's recollection of the day. After the traditional dinner of potatoes and meatballs and a few animated stories, he decided it was high time the children were ready for bed and shooed them off to it. It was after brushing their teeth when the perfect opportunity to introduce tradition to Wy presented itself on a silver platter.

"Far?" She poked her head out the bathroom and into the darkened hall, her words obscured by her toothbrush. "You're still tellin' us a story tonight, right? You promised." Berwald allowed himself a controlled grin at this comment and replied back to her,

"'Course. Be there in a min'te." He heard her spit in the sink then off she dashed to her room so that she may get herself settled before her father came in. When he saw his sister in such a hurry, Sealand came scuttling after, intercepting his father at the door. From the frame, he took a flying leap and landed, laughing from the fun of it all, in a pile of beanbags. Lynnaea sat up excitedly in her bed, her eyes the tale of a child's curiosity. Sweden smiled at the image of the two, then meandered in, taking his tantalizing time. He acted as if not to begin, instead admiring the sketches done by Wy's hand, and then asked of them casually,

"You've met It'ly?" They glanced at each other, raising their eyebrows. Of course, they were well aware that their father enjoyed beginning a fine tale by questioning them with something irrelevant. Often, the most fascinating connections were established this the knowledge that his question had a purpose, the children both nodded, eager to hear the actual story. He shifted so that he sat at the edge of Lynnaea's bed, facing Peter who watched him with an attention most thought inconceivable for a child to have. Of course, Sweden thought, they had it, but most knew not how to capture it.

"Then you must know his brother, Rom'no and grandf'ther." Again, with impatience, they nodded. "Once," he continued, "long ago, around the time the It'ly brothers were born, the emp'ror was ordering the deaths of all Christians. But tthere was one woman who was saddened by this - the daughter," he paused and leaned over to tickle Wy playfully, "of their emp'ror. She was very beaut'ful and had strange, uncommon features. She was tall and pale, with blue eyes and long blond hair." At this, he reached over and ruffled Peter's golden locks affectionately, to which the boy grimaced. "Her name was Lucia, a name meaning light, a name chosen for her appearance, but a name that would come to mean much more." His tone turned wistful at this. She'd been Italian, but Sweden had been closer to her than anyone else that lived at that time. He switched back to as normal a tone as he could muster and continued, "One day, Lucia decided to take a stroll. Being royal, ev'ryone was at her whim. She 'scaped her ladies in waiting and came to place that was all her own and s'cret - or so she thought. That day, she came across a wounded traveler. She tended to him there and he told her his s'crets. He was a Christian. The next day, when Lucia r'turned to him, he was not there. She did not know it at the time, but he was taken by soldiers and 'mprisoned. She was furious with her father, but she did not show it. That night," he murmured, his voice edging to a new level of intensity, "she went to the prison in her nightgown, tying a scarlet sash around her waist to show to the guards that she was royalty. Under the cover of stars and a blanket of night, she hid in the kitchen and stole food from the preserves. Using her symbol of royalty, she took the food to the prisoners and bid them tell the stories of Christianity to her, as curiosity gave way. She was awestruck by the lessons and tales they spoke of. And so, ev'ry day, she would face her father and act as though all were normal and ev'ry night, she would bring food to the pris'ners, most of which were on their deathbeds. For this, they loved her, they called her the bearer of light, for the halo of candles she wore each night to see and her fairness of skin and hair. One night, a guard became suspicious of her behavior and followed her down to the dungeons," he said, drawing himself up to loom over the kids and growling out the last word. In response, they giggled and leaned in, chorusing various questions about what happened. "When he saw what she was doing," he began grimly, "he reported her to Rome and her father, the emp'ror." When he left this sentence hanging in the air and it was met with silence, he knew he'd captured Peter and Lynnaea's full attention. "Naturally, neither believed him - until they themselves followed her. They heard her conversing with the prisoners and saw her feeding them. Infuriated, her father dragged her outside in a rage, and both yelled and screamed. The wary city was awakened by the racket. The citizens followed and quickly realized where they were taking her - the city center, where punishments were always held. The emp'ror ordered Rome and his soldiers to gather bundles of wood and lay them together." His eyes drifted shut as painted before him was an image of a blossoming fire more glorified than any other he had ever seen, the fire which so hauntingly was as silent as the woman it burned. "It was a fire lit by Rome himself." Two sets of eyes, the colors of early autumn, searched his own for a hint that this story may possibly have a happy outcome. He could not give them this, but he offered them something. "We continue to cel'brate Lucia's life, even today, though she is now known as Santa Lucia, the patron saint of light."

"Did you..." whispered Wy, her voice tiptoeing on the edge of the cliff that to man was known as uncertainty, "know her?" The words slipped off the cliff and sent a shower of pebbles that clogged her throat with guilt, though she swallowed in attempt to hide it. His reply was a near hesitant nod to affirm her suspicions.

"Tomorrow, I'll tell you how we celebrate," he promised Lynnaea, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "But for now, goodnight."

"Goodnight Pappa," she yawned, and was echoed in the same manner by Sealand and he went to his room, though he promptly wiped away Sweden's forehead kiss.

The following week proved itself an active one as Berwald busied himself with teaching his children history lessons and sharing special recipes for the occasion. It was only on the eve of the day did Sweden do what he'd been intending to for years. With amusement painted in his heart due to the irony of pulling his children away from their earnest work in preparing the pastries, he called,

"Lynnaea, Peter! Come here." Before him lay a wooden crate from before the Second World War, now opened for the first time since it had been closed. Within it were the hand sewn garments meant for the holiday on the morrow. There was a dress of gentle cotton that once had a white color, though it had faded to ivory. Along the collar and sleeves were stitches of blue the shade of a clear winter's horizon in the morn. They were in the shape of docile holly leaves. Beneath this was a similar gown, though with wide sleeves that had brilliant stars that must have been touched by a summer evening's sun. To match it was a triangular hat, the same shade of navy that graced a spring's night sky with the very same stars sewn on it. What seemed at the time a sudden addition to the collection was a gift from China in the form of a scarlet silk sash to be worn around Wy's waist as Lucia herself had done. What the crate had lacked, Sweden went out to buy earlier that afternoon. A crown of holly and red berries with small electric candles all around was the central and single most important piece of the garb, as it represented the light the good saint brought to the people.

As Sweden kneeled at the crate, he heard rushed footsteps coming down the basement stairs, signaling the presence of his children. When they arrived at the foot of the stairs, they both let out cries of joy, excitement and shock.

"Pappa," Lynnaea gasped, "they're gorgeous! Where did you get them?" She had no intention to go to the store at which he bought them, but otherwise she was speechless for their beauty. Sealand's attempts to speak were naught - for his delight was evident enough.

"Made them myself," he replied without boast, for his voice was earnest in tone. He counted the years quickly. "I made them in the year nineteen twenty-three," he admitted with a sheepish laugh, as it was more than telling of his age. "Now, hurry off to bed," he urged the children, "you've an early day tomorrow."

In a daze caught between sleep and the world of the wakeful, Berwald heard heavy steps and hushed giggles. Dark was the morn on which he woke and he marked absently that a gentle snow was currently falling. Together chorused two young voices an old and familiar tune, though exciting and strange it sounded to his ears:

"Night walks with a heavy step

Round yard and hearth,

As the sun departs from earth,

Shadows are brooding.

There in our dark house,

Walking with lit candles,

Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia!" His eyes blurred from sleep and poor vision in general, he made out no specific forms, save for two flames that flickered and danced in the song. To his nose wafted a warm scent, though tinged on its edges was smoke.

"Night walks grand, yet silent,

Now hear its gentle wings,

In every room so hushed,

Whispering like wings.

Look, at our threshold stands,

White-clad with light in her hair,

Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia!" Now as they came closer, Sweden could make out the indistinct form of his two children. One leaned from foot to foot in a slight shift of weight with the melody's tempo and the other was still, but burdened by something that seemed heavy.

"Darkness shall take flight soon,

From earth's valleys.

So she speaks

Wonderful words to us:

A new day will rise again

From the rosy sky…

Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia!" He put on his glasses and observed for a moment Peter and Lynnaea. It was the former that had been moving; he had more freedom of it than his sister, whose crown of holly surrounded her with her own sunrise and highlighted her brother's golden locks. There was a candle held by him and another on the navy painted tray Wy had brought up with her. The firelight was reflected in her golden eyes like the yellow sunrise on amber fields. On the tray was the traditional white and red checkered cloth, and on that pastries that had been partially burned, but Sweden noted this not, for all he could feel was the indefinite pride that he possessed for his children.


End file.
